


Good Start To A Sunday Morning

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Objectification, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles insists on morning sex with Hank. Hank, not grudgingly at all, complies. Set post DOFP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Start To A Sunday Morning

Charles is half asleep, and it is that, partly, that affects him to push himself up, lean, and reach between Hank’s legs.

"Charles!" Hank lets out a choked sound, dropping his book aside almost out of shock.

It’s early in the morning, barely six AM, and Charles doesn’t know how long Hank has been awake for - probably for hours, given that he doesn’t sleep enough. His glasses are perched on his lovely blue nose in a charming fashion.

Charles finds a particular yearning to have Hank in his arse, and to feel Hank’s fur against his skin, his teeth against Charles’ neck, and what Charles wants, he shall have.

"Bugger me, please." Charles says, in as polite a tone as he can muster when it’s six AM and he’s sleepy and mildly aroused.

”How would you like it?” Hank asks the question, and mild though his tone is, Charles knows he’s being sarcastic, intending to tease. In all honest, Charles doesn’t quite care.

"Roughly. Fuck me like it’s going out of fashion."

"Charles, that is a terrible effort for before dawn on a Tuesday morning."

The professor opens his mouth to respond, but Hank lets out a low growl that sends a shock through him, and he picks Charles up like he’s a rag doll, picks him up, throws him down again.

And in that two seconds Charles is wide awake, on his belly with his hands pinned uncomfortably behind his back, and he lets out whine when Hank’s tongue runs between his arsecheeks.

"Desperately charming little slut, aren’t you?" There are actual claws digging into Charles’ wrists on Hank’s one hand, and the other is digging into the thick flesh of his backside, yet Hank speaks in such a cultured, clever voice.

Ah, the juxtaposition of the baser beast and the unmatched intellectual.

"I’ll have you hanging from my knot in a second or two, Charles: forgive me for the delay. I know how impatient you are to be filled up, spread for me like a bitch in heat." Charles is struck by the fact that he cannot move. Even if Hank released his wrists he is a  _paraplegic_ , and he couldn’t get away if he wanted to; the beast could do whatever he bloody wanted.

Hank’s prick is hard as Hell and just the tiniest bit wet at the head. Good God, his being trapped oughtn’t get him so hot and bothered.

The tongue presses forwards, beautiful, wet heat mixed with the slick cool of flavoured lubricant, just for the fact that Henry McCoy is very careful about his claws.

Charles yowls into the pillow, and his shoulders ache, and Hank’s tongue is so far inside him he could actually start crying at any moment.

Charles loves this man.

"I’m going to take you now." Hank murmurs against the flesh of the other’s arse, and bites hard into the pale of the skin (because honestly, Charles doesn’t have  _time_  to sunbathe like he had back in the 70s), drawing a choked whimper out of Charles’ mouth.

And then, wonderfully, mercifully, tremendously, Hank slides forwards, thick and hot and pressing  _inside_  Charles, and his prick is on the comfortable scale of big; there is something about Hank’s cock, as blue as his face and dusted with hair, that just feels  _right_  when it’s buried to the root in Charles.

"And you can’t get away."

“ _Ah._ " Charles says, because Hank starts  _fucking_  him, raw and hard and just as roughly as Charles had asked for, pushing him into the mattress and clawing at his back, his hips, his buttocks, his shoulders. 

And then he grabs Charles by the hair (it’s beginning to thin, and he pretends not to be worried about it) and pulls him bodily back, supporting him with an arm around his body and  _bouncing_  him on his cock, and God, he feels like a rag doll again.

Hank’s teeth began to drag and bite at the back of his neck, and he’s  _broadcasting_  thoughts, filthy, filthy thoughts of Charles bent over desks and suspended in bondage and bruised all over, buggered silly and lying,  _knackered,_  on the bed.

Hank is thinking the word “knackered” on purpose because he knows Charles is listening. Clever  _twat_.

Charles’ orgasm almost catches him by surprise, come spattering on his own belly and on the sheets beneath him, and Hank is still rolling his hips up, powerful thrusts rocking Charles right through. _  
_

He loves it. God, what is it about being an effective _toy_  that is so utterly intoxicating?

"Ah. There." Hank murmurs against his ear, slowing his thrusts into slow rocks, and Charles is only being held up by Hank’s hands flat against his chest and his nails digging slightly into the skin, and Charles is in  _bliss_  as he feels the slight swell press inside him.

It is not slight for long.

“ _Hank_ -” Charles gasps to say the other’s name, and Hank  _laughs_  at him. The good doctor is ever so sympathetic with everyone else, but it’s not so with Charles.

“ _Mine._ " Hank rumbles into his ear, and Charles closes his eyes, leaning back against him.

"How long…?"

"Thirty minutes or so." Hank says: the knot does not last forever, but nor is it there for a short while only. "I’ve got to work, though."

"What do you-  _yah_ -” Hank  _lifts_  him, holds him by the hips and the shoulder to drop into Charles’ desk chair, opening up his laptop to work around Charles’ body, leaving Charles to lean back against his chest and feel the fur against his own bareback. 

Charles has never felt more like a sex toy in his life, and every single one of Hank’s thoughts is  _smug_  with how much Charles loves it, and he can’t even argue because Hank is very correct indeed.

"You’re awful."

"Mmm hmm, so I’m told." Hank murmurs, and begins to type. Charles closes his eyes, focuses on the fullness inside him, thick, pleasant, warm. He’s hardly going to complain.

It’s a good start to the day, after all.


End file.
